Par for the Course
by SuperKateB
Summary: Ah, nothing like golf to ease the mind and soul. That is, unless you're Ten'ou Haruka. The Senshi of Wind shares HER thoughts on the sport...and on Michiru's ex-teacher, too.


Par For the Course  
A Haruka and Michiru Story, as told by Haruka.  
By Kate Butler  
  
Author's Ramblings: Golf is a terribly boring sport. And I am awful  
at it. However, I came to a starling realization today: with all her   
patience, finesse, and grace, Michiru would make an excellent golfer.  
And this idea followed.  
Disclaimer: Not again! The reason I write series stories is so I don't  
have to admit defeat! ::sigh:: Sailor Moon and all related characters  
are not mine. Though, Sailor Stars tapes should be in a few days.  
  
*  
  
"I'm bored," she said.  
  
I was sitting on the couch, reading the morning newspaper. I've  
always enjoyed the loveliness of a Saturday morning. So what if there  
are daimons about? So what if the Senshi of Destruction is roaming the  
streets of Tokyo? So what if the Talismen are sitting in the Crystal   
Hearts of three strangers and we can't find them?  
  
Saturdays are my day off.  
  
So, when Michiru entered the room, dressed conservatively in  
a pair of nice-looking khaki pants and a button-down flowered shirt,  
I folded my newspaper and shot her a grin. "I can fix that," I assured  
her, accompanying the glance with a long wink.   
  
"Haruka!" she scolded, hands on her hips as she glared at me.   
  
I chuckled. A girl's got to try, ne?  
  
"I didn't mean it like *that*. I just meant that I want to   
get out. Do something." She gestured toward the window, where the   
cheery morning sunlight was entering the rather dark living room. "So,  
I made an executive decision."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Golfing. We're going golfing."  
  
I shrugged and opened my newspaper once again, uninterested.  
I didn't know that she was a golfer. She could... Then, my jaw dropped,  
and I turned my eyes to glance at her. "We?"  
  
Her smile could have lit the darkest corner of a daimon's soul.  
Even if it were a really, really, *really* mean daimon. It absolutely  
sparkled, and the room filled with warmth.  
  
Well, I didn't quite fill with warmth. I shivered. "Michi-chan,  
I'm not a golfer..."  
  
Somewhere on that girl, there must be a little disclaimer: 'can  
go from beaming beauty to whining nag in 2.6 seconds.' Because that's  
exactly what she did.  
  
"But HARUKA," she pleaded, placing the emphasis on my name, as  
though I wasn't paying attention to her. (Okay, so I wasn't really   
paying too much attention. I was trying to think of a way to get out  
of the upcoming torture.) "I made a one p.m. tee time at Tokyo's  
premiere country club! I shined up my clubs!" She had clubs? Since when?  
They must have been sitting in storage from when she first moved in,  
because I don't remember golf clubs as part of her effects. "I even  
called the local driving range and reserved my favorite grass tee!"  
Grass tee? Driving range? What language was she speaking?   
  
So, I did the only think I could. I ignored her.  
  
Suddenly, I felt warm arms encircle my neck (I'd turned my  
back to Michi as soon as she started pleading). Her touch sent those   
all-too-familiar shivers up and down my spine. I pressed my lips   
together as hard as I could. My mind yelled at the rest of me: 'do not  
give in! Resist all urges!'  
  
Then, a husky whisper sneaked in my right ear. "Ruka-chan, if  
you come with me," it hissed (and let me say, this was one Hell of  
a seductive whisper), "I'll make it very worth your while."  
  
Remember my screaming brain? Well, my body glanced at it and  
proceeded to beam it over the head with a golf club.   
  
I sighed in defeat. "What time was that grass tee?"  
  
*  
  
"Damn it!" A golf club went sailing through the air and got to  
meet the nearby chain-link fence. I'm sure it was having a marvelous  
time.  
  
Almost as marvelous a time as I was having.  
  
When I was ten, my father (God rest his soul) tried to take  
me golfing. After all, it wasn't too butch a sport, which was good for  
me. Supposedly.   
  
Did you know that twenty-seven over par (whatever par is) means  
you're a really sucky golfer?  
  
Michiru stood, club resting on the ground, about fifteen feet  
to my left . The grass around us was short and very well kept,   
considering the fact this place was meant for people to stand on.   
Little boxes of wooden toothpicks (tees, I believe she had called them)  
were sitting besides large baskets of obnoxiously white balls. And,  
for about fifteen bucks a basket, you could push a toothpick in the   
ground, set a ball on it, and attempt to hit the ball.  
  
I say attempt because I couldn't do it.  
  
The balls go into this ludicrously green stretch of land, with  
little sandboxes (though Michi calls them 'traps') scattered about.  
And there are red flags that say '50', '100', and--for the pros--  
'400'. And, of course, a bunch of increments in between.  
  
Those flags are, when you hit to them, how many yards your   
ball has flown through the merry, happy air of this demonic place   
called Hell (or the driving range). My Michiru was having a grand old  
time, hitting the balls to the 200-yard marker and beyond. Her club  
would make contact and the ball would soar through the air, like a   
bird, and then plop down and roll another twenty-odd yards.  
  
Mine... I guess I got a bunch of fraidy-balls. They'd see  
the club coming for them, and jump off the tee, rolling a cheery, oh,  
ten feet before halting and thanking their golf ball god that I didn't  
hurt them...  
  
Oh yeah? Well, if I could have, I would have World Shaken them  
to death.  
  
But Saturday is my day off.  
  
A young man, no older (or taller) than me, plucked Michi's 3-  
wood off the ground and handed it to me with a sweet smile. "Not a   
golfer?" he asked of me.  
  
No shit, Sherlock.  
  
"Iie," I responded with a slight smile, wrinkling my nose.   
"This is my first time."  
  
He nodded. "You should ask that woman for pointers," he   
suggested kindly, pointing over my shoulder at... someone. "She's   
really good."  
  
I turned my head and saw green. Well, aquamarine, actually.   
Aquamarine hair, actually. And a short girl attached.  
  
I bristled and nodded to the man. "Arigoto," I thanked him,  
trotting over to Michiru.  
  
Plop. 300 yards.  
  
Her blue eyes glanced away from where her ball had landed to  
meet my eyes. And I know she was surprised. Whether it was surprise  
as in 'Haruka's noble enough to ask for help?' or 'Holy cow, I figured  
she'd be good at this', I don't know.  
  
"Michi," I sighed with a shake of my head, "I can't play this  
game."  
  
She chortled and nodded gently at me, handing me this big-ass  
club that reminded me of...I dunno...a spear you'd see some caveman  
using.   
  
I laughed aloud at the idea of cavemen golfing, and she shot  
me a look. Placing a ball on a nice, cherry-colored tee, she stepped  
back and rested her hands on her hips. "Hit the ball," she commanded  
of me.  
  
'Head down. Knees bent. Feet shoulder-length apart. Arms   
relaxed. Not too relaxed...damn it Haruka!' I replayed the instructions  
she'd first told me that morning. In fact, I felt pretty good about  
the stance. I mean, that was easy.  
  
Closing my eyes, I centered my energy. After all, that works  
for F-1 racing. I pressed my lips together. I slowly raised the club  
and then, I swung it down at the ball as hard as my muscles could   
allow.  
  
Plunk, said the ball. Dribble, dribble, dribble, plop. And  
it landed about a stone's throw from me.  
  
Not a stone's throw like *I* would throw a stone. A stone's  
throw like that annoying Sailor Chibi-Moon would throw. With a broken  
arm. On a lousy day.  
  
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to look at Michiru. And  
she was smirking. SMIRKING! I sighed and shook my head. And she laid  
a kiss on my cheek.  
  
"Ruka," she informed me, batting her long eyelashes, "don't  
*kill* the ball. Just hit it. Gently." She shrugged. "Nice and easy."  
  
Okay. So she's telling the Senshi who *enjoys* to fight to  
be *nice* to the foul, evil, horrible, blood-sucking white balls of  
Hell. Yeah. Right.  
  
She bent over, and placed another ball on another tee. (The  
first one had SOMEHOW met the tip of my tennis shoe and had soared  
through the air...and farther than the ball went, I might add.) "Try  
again," she told me, stepping back.  
  
Nice and easy. Don't kill the ball. Easy for her to say. She  
doesn't get that same thrill out of seeing a daimon 'Moon Spiral Heart  
Attack'-ed to death, now does she? Well, the ball is not a daimon.  
Though, that would make a good fight. 'Oh, no, Sailor Mars! Michiru  
had her Crystal Heart stolen by a giant golf ball! Eeek! It has   
*fangs*, Mars! Save me!'   
  
Michiru cleared her throat from behind me, and I snapped from  
my thoughts. Shoulders back. Head down. And I brought the club up...  
And back down...  
  
Whoosh! screamed the ball. Wee! Plop! Dribble, dribble,   
dribble! And I beamed at it. I positively beamed.  
  
150 yards.  
  
Have you ever seen a 17-year-old woman prance? Well, I did that  
day. Pranced back to my spot and picked up that lousy old club of  
Michi's and sent three balls all flying merrily toward the 150 flag.  
They didn't make it, but they came close enough for me.  
  
The guy who'd handed me back the club smiled and cocked his   
head in my direction. "Is that babe a good teacher?"  
  
'That babe' is my girlfriend. Hands off, creep.  
  
"Hai," I told him. "She's very good."  
  
*  
  
"Kaioh-san?"  
  
I was standing next to Michiru as she waited in an obscenely  
long line to rent an ugly white cart. One which, may I add, she wasn't  
letting me drive. Anyway, we were in this line, when the guy behind us  
leaned forward and tapped MY girlfriend on the shoulder. She whirled  
around and her azure eyes went wide.   
  
"Aachikia-sensei?" She squealed (not something very Michiru-  
like, I thought. It was all like a bad nightmare. And I wanted, badly,  
to wake up. *Very* badly.) and rushed forward, hugging him. I felt  
jealousy kick me in the butt and I straightened up considerably.   
  
"Michiru-chan?" I question gently, sizing up the fat, balding,  
UGLY man that she was hanging all over. "Who is this?"  
  
The man bowed toward me, flashing a toothy grin. A grin I   
didn't take too much of a shining to. "I taught this wonderful girl--"  
Michi beamed and turned a slight shade of red-- "how to golf four  
years back." He patted her on the shoulder, and I resisted the urge  
to run home and grab my henshin pen. "She's an amazing young woman."  
  
"Sensei," she insisted humbly, "I'm not all that good anymore."  
  
"Yes. You are." The smile he shared with her was just BEGGING  
for a nice introduction to World Shaking.  
  
Day off. Day off. Day off.  
  
I cleared my throat. "Well, I'm Ten'ou Haruka," I greeted,   
mostly because Michiru was choosing to be a lousy hostess.   
  
The man beamed. "Ha! You must be Michiru's caddy!"  
  
I paled and my slight smile faded into an annoyed frown. Caddy?  
He thought that all I was going to do was drag her FREAKING golf bag  
around all day and hand golf clubs out? Uh... No.   
  
In fact, I was about to tell him just that when I felt a few  
razor-sharp nails digging into my wrist. I glanced at Michiru and   
raised an eyebrow. She had a 'look' on her face. A 'look' that said:  
"Ten'ou Haruka! If you embarrass me in front of this man, I will make  
sure you and the couch become *very* close acquaintances!"   
  
I gulped. The couch isn't *that* comfortable.  
  
"Yep," I growled, my voice probably a little lower than it   
should have been. "Haruka-the-caddy."  
  
This man--Aachikia-sensei, as my dear Michi had called him--  
glanced at the girl I called my own and then looked at me. I didn't  
like that look. It was all...mischievous. And full of ideas.  
  
"How about a match, Kaioh-san? If your caddy can handle two  
bags--" Bullshit! I wasn't even going to handle the one!-- "then I'm  
sure that I could take time out of my busy schedule to play you."  
  
Okay! This is it! The stupid charade has gone far enough! I am  
*not* her caddy, I'm her girlfriend. I am *not* lugging her bag   
around. I am *not* letting you play her, you filthy old leach with   
bad hair! I am...  
  
"Hai, sensei! I'm SURE Haruka would be delighted."  
  
I lowered my eyes at her and said nothing.  
  
The man thrust his bag at me. "Here you go, boy. Hope it's not  
too heavy."  
  
Oh, no sir. It just feels like a bag of lead weights.   
  
And then, it hit me. BOY? I let out a long breath and resisted  
the urge to punch something.  
  
I was now not just a caddy. I was a MALE caddy.  
  
*  
  
"Eighteen to twenty-four after six holes," I read off the   
score card in a low tone. "Par is twenty-three."  
  
Aachikia (that was his name, I learned. Or, his last name.   
The first was probably worse.) was killing Michiru's spirit. They were,  
what, a third of the way into the game? Yes. A third. And she was   
already hanging her head and sighing miserably.  
  
Okay, okay, I admit it. I have a soft spot for her. And, seeing  
her as upset as she was... I melted like bad butter.   
  
And so, I decided one thing.   
  
I was going to cheat for my Michi.  
  
I know, I know, it sounds really awful. But can you honestly  
expect me to let her lose to the doofus with the supreme lack of hair?  
(I'm sorry. It's mean for me to talk like that about the guy. It's just  
that his comb-over was bothering me. It was pretty freaky, actually.  
Looked like a dead cat had climbed onto his head and decided to sit  
there for a while.) I wanted her to win. I didn't care how.  
  
So, it started. Haruka saves the day! It's a bird... It's a   
plane! No! It's...  
  
Super Haruka! The defender of girlfriends in trouble!  
  
The next hole was an easy one, Michiru told me. A par three.  
Simple as cherry pie. Of course, with all the sand boxes and water  
holes all over the place, it looked more like a part of the Tokyo   
Zoo. Maybe the African exhibit.  
  
But I shut up and handed her a 1-wood.  
  
Then, that guy (whose name I will not use) stepped up. He had  
this wily look in his eye as he asked for his 5-wood. Now, why he'd  
use that on his first shot, I don't know. But he did. And I...  
  
I picked out a random club, making sure it wasn't the one he  
wanted, and handed it to him.  
  
He swung, and hit the ball. Plop! said the ball. Fly, fly,  
plop, dribble, splash. Into the nice little lake it went, spraying   
water everywhere. I restrained a smile. So did Michi, though she was  
a lot more subtle about it. And that man turned to me, hands on hips.  
  
"Ten'ou! What was that?" he roared, turning the club upside   
down and glaring at the little white number on the bottom. "This is  
a 5-IRON, boy!"  
  
Boy? Kami-sama, why was he calling me that? I didn't like that!  
  
I scuffed my feet together. "I thought you said 5-iron, sir.  
I'm sorry."  
  
He grunted.  
  
*  
  
"Hole 8," I read off the card. "Score twenty-nine to thirty-  
one. Par thirty."   
  
Michiru beamed and patted my shoulder, giving it a gentle,   
secretive squeeze, and winked. I smiled back.   
  
And that man, sensei what's-his-freaking-problem, just wrinkled  
his nose and looked at the next hole. It was a long shot to the little  
grassy patch--the green, I guess--and sand traps were liberally   
dispersed about the area.  
  
Aachi-baba took out his own club (a sign he didn't trust me--  
he'd been doing that since the 5-iron switch) and prepared for his   
shot. And I...  
  
Well, Michi was focused on her teacher. So I picked up his   
sand wedge, pretended to be polishing it, and launched it into the   
nearest set of bushes. There was a loud rustling sound, and they both  
turned to look at me.   
  
I shrugged. "Birds?" I suggested with a certain mock innocence  
that came across as not so mock.  
  
Sensei-baka just *looked* at me. His dark eyes were a glare,   
and I was pretty sure that he was not having such a good time.   
  
What, Aachikia? Not having fun anymore? Is she catching up?  
Could you possibly LOSE? Ha ha ha ha ha ha...  
  
"Haruka?" came a soft voice. I turned to meet two blue eyes,  
which were both staring at me. "We've both gone, now."  
  
I glanced out at the course and saw, to my delight, the bright  
red ball of the annoying teacher sitting in the sand trap. I smiled.  
Sand wedge? What sand wedge?  
  
And that was the next thing I was asked for. We made our way  
to the sand trap, and Michi hit her ball from the edge of the trap   
(it hadn't gone in. Hear that, Aachikia? IT DIDN'T GO IN!) and right  
onto the green. Par five. Go Michi!  
  
But the next words to fall upon my ears were "Haruka, sand  
wedge."  
  
I glanced at the man, and smiled politely. "Yes, sensei." I  
turned to his obscenely large black bag and began to mime rooting around  
in it. "Sand wedge... Hmm..."   
  
He glared at me and elbowed me aside. "Damn it, Ten'ou, I know  
it's here!"  
  
Oh yeah?  
  
"I don't see it..."  
  
Heh heh. Check the pine bushes back at the beginning of the   
hole.  
  
Kicking the bag, he let out a long string of very adult swears,  
many of which I don't think I've ever used. Michi's eyes went wide,  
and she tugged a club free of her own bag. "Sensei, use mine..."  
  
"SHIMATTA, Kaioh!" he roared, knocking the bag off its stand  
and onto the ground. "That was a five-hundred dollar club! Custom   
made! One-of-a-kind!"  
  
I felt guilty. I'll admit it. For about two seconds.  
  
Because, then, Michiru's eyes welled up with tears as he yelled  
at her, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. If he got one  
step closer to her, or said one more rude thing, he'd have to start   
swinging. Fists, not clubs.  
  
He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "Sorry,  
Kaioh-san. I must have..." His dark eyes stole a glance from me. "I   
must have forgotten it."  
  
"Must have," I echoed, face solemn.  
  
So he drew out his 9-iron and let the subject drop.  
  
*  
  
"Hole 15. Forty-eight to forty-seven. Par forty-eight."  
  
Aachikia was coming unglued.  
  
As I stood at the large water trap, I could see it in his   
mannerisms. Sure, he stood a good fifty yards away, limbering up before  
hitting the ball to the green (which was a scant ten feet ahead of me)  
and trying to take back his victory.   
  
The victory Michi was stealing.   
  
I felt like a cheerleader, standing there. Michiru had gotten  
a hole-in-two (yeah, yeah, I know--it's not a hole-in-two. So sue  
me.) and was about to snatch that man's winning from under his nose.  
His large, pimply, wart-covered nose. I smiled in spite of myself.  
  
Whoosh! hollered the ball. And it soared. Fifty yards. And   
landed on the green.  
  
But it rolled. Quickly at first. And then more slowly.  
  
And stopped at my feet.  
  
This was TOO easy. I felt almost wrong doing it. I mean, the  
ball stopped at my feet and just grinned up at me, it's bright redness  
mocking me.   
  
Kick me! it pleaded. Kick me and knock me into the water hole.  
PLEASE!  
  
And my tennis shoe nudged it three feet. Three feet.   
  
Plunk.  
  
"How'd it do, Ten'ou?" asked a snooty Aachikia lugging his OWN  
bag around for once. (His trust for me had slowly died. No, I take that  
back--it had quickly died. Died without any smiles or happiness. Died  
with a nice big frown. And now... He was his own caddy. I wanted to   
smile, but I didn't.) "Did it go on the green?"  
  
How hard was it to see those large, bright, sickly red balls?  
  
"I believe it went in the water."  
  
He dropped the bag on the ground and rushed toward the water.  
Knelling on the ground, he glared at the red sphere that was about  
a foot under the beautiful, smiling blue liquid.  
  
His dark eyes glared up at me. I shrugged.   
  
And I saw Michiru smile.  
  
*  
  
"To think it!" giggled Michiru, gingerly sipping her coffee  
and ignoring the large plate of sushi that sat between the two of us.  
"I beat my old sensei!" She reached forward and took my free hand. (I,  
unlike her, was enjoying my sushi.) "Thank you for behaving, Haruka."  
  
I choked on my dinner and didn't say anything. Instead, I   
just smiled.  
  
"You were very sweet."  
  
You have no idea.  
  
"You didn't go after him."  
  
It was my day off.  
  
"And you helped me win--"  
  
WHAT? My eyes went wide.  
  
"--by carrying my bag and cheering me on."  
  
I let out my breath, which I didn't know I'd been holding. I  
put down my roll of seaweed-and-eel and took her hand in both of mine.  
"Michi-chan," I smiled at her, "I did it because it was so important  
to you."  
  
She beamed back, positively glowing with happiness.   
"Arigoto..." She paused suddenly and furrowed her brow. "You know what,  
Haruka-chan?"  
  
I froze and cocked my head. "What?"  
  
"Aachikia-sensei is much more nervous and jumpy than he used to  
be..."  
  
Despite the serious look on her face, I had to laugh. She   
smiled too. But still...  
  
I think I knew why he was so jumpy.  
  
*  
  
"Haruka..."  
  
She clung onto me, like a wet shirt on a dry body. I know, I  
know, I did do this because she offered me...something... But you know  
what?  
  
My conscience was screaming at me.  
  
'Ten'ou Haruka!' it yelled, little fists clenched at its sides.  
'I don't believe you! Why didn't you just tell Michiru and get it out  
in the open? Now, she thinks that she actually beat that man!'  
  
Shut up... I begged it, one of my hands gently touching Michi's  
arm. I'm not going to listen.  
  
'Yes, you will!' it informed me stubbornly. I could see the   
little super-deformed Sailor Uranus of my mind, and it was now waving  
a finger at me. 'If she ever found out...'  
  
I imagined a little super-deformed Neptune chasing the little  
Uranus from my head. I liked that. And I smiled.  
  
Michiru snuggled closer and her lips made their way toward  
my throat.  
  
'Please, Haruka!' the little conscience Uranus begged me, down  
on it's Sailor-fuku-clad knees. 'Just tell her before she kills us.'  
  
I sat straight up, and Michi sat up with me.  
  
"What?" she questioned, raising both eyebrows as she pulled her  
lacy nightshirt closer to her. "What's wrong with you?"  
  
Sighing, I took her cheeks in my hands and held them for a   
long moment, feeling the warmth of them against my palms. And I sighed  
a sad sigh.  
  
"I cheated for you."  
  
Her blue eyes went wide, and then she smiled. "You liar," she  
teased, playfully pretending to punch me in the shoulder. "You did  
not."  
  
"Yes, I did," I told her carefully. And I explained the 5-iron,  
and the water-trap, and the sand wedge, and a bit of clever score   
fudging that I'd managed--she'd only won by six, not twelve.  
  
She stared at me as I told her all this, face not registering  
any emotion. She just gaped at me, not knowing what to say.   
  
There was a long, dull silence over the bedroom before she  
settled back down into her spot on the bed and tossed her head   
arrogantly. Oh, Kami, she was as mad as a rabid animal about this one.  
I could tell.  
  
I began to slink back into my spot when she shook her head  
silently. I glanced at her, and she pointed to the door without a word.  
Sighing, I picked up my pillow and headed out.  
  
The things I do for love...  
  
'But, Haruka,' chimed in the Chibi-Uranus. 'It's just par for  
the course.'  
  
Shut up, conscience. I'm going to bed.  
  
*End.*  
  
  



End file.
